


Cause and Effect

by KawaiiAnimeGirl



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-10-20 19:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17628392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KawaiiAnimeGirl/pseuds/KawaiiAnimeGirl
Summary: A jutsu-gone-wrong sends Sakura and Sasuke crashing through time. Now, each must come to terms with when they are; or better yet, who they are with.Because this time, Sakura is far less forgiving.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m trash. Sorry not sorry.

“ _You_ ,” she slams his head against the wall.  
  
For a moment, his eyes are deceptively wide, surprised and fearful, before his mouth curls into a cruel smirk.  
  
“Hello, Sakura- _chan_ ,”  
  
Her fists tremble as they clutch at his collar, the fabric threatening to tear. She seethes. She hates this man so much, and his eyes belay that he is of the same thought. Had it been anyone else, she’d have been taken aback at the sight of such cruelty on a face so young. As it was, all she wants is to wipe the smirk off his damned face. All of this is his fault. It must be.  
  
“Kindly let go,” he sneers, his eyes flashing a dangerous red that would have once sent her cowing. She doesn’t move.  
  
“I have half the mind to kill you right now for what you did, you _traitor_ ,” she threatens, her voice low but gradually strengthening the more her agitation grows.  
  
“Traitor?” he says with a lilt, “I’m no traitor. I’m just the young Uchiha heir, still grieving after my older brother snapped and massacred my clan. You, on the other hand, would be charged with treason for attempting to kill the last Uchiha, and likely will be suspected of infiltration with intent to weaken the village. Interrogation and execution will be imminent. Oh, and your parents would likely follow as well,” he adds nonchalantly, “Do you really want that?”  
  
No, she doesn’t. Could she possibly hate him more than she does at this moment? She shoves him back against the wall, thankful that no one spotted the commotion in the narrow alley—a cliché, she knows, but it does its job—before reluctantly releasing him.  
  
He makes a show of dusting himself off, smirking at her as if to say _I’ve won_.  
  
She doesn’t regret the way her fist flew towards his face, nor the grunt and the doubling-over with hands on his nose in an attempt to stem his bleeding.  
  
He glares up at her balefully.  
  
She smirks.  
  
“Oh, the little Uchiha got into a training accident? How awful,” she kroons as she walks away.  
  
She had a lot to think about, after all.  
  
~~~  
  
  
All she remembers was a jutsu gone wrong and an earth-tearing explosion and then waking up in her childhood home at eight years old and preparing for the academy. At first, everything feels like a dream, easily shaken off and forgotten. Then a nightmare, lingering at the back of her head. Then more. And suddenly she is noticing little things, the ninja running across the rooftops, their casual use of chakra, and oh, wasn’t there a building right there just the other day? And then the faces of strangers became familiar, so much so that she finds herself raising a hand in greeting, only to realize that she’s never met the person before.  
  
And yet she continues undeterred through her daily routine as if walking through a haze. Nothing stands out to her as odd (not yet), her body going through the motions as if on autopilot while her mind is occupied with the influx of information.  
  
She walks until the academy looms before her, large and sturdy and full of life, the untempered chakra of the students singing to her senses. The Hokage tower looks down from above, the backdrop of the Hokage monument watching over the village—and wait. Where was her Shishou? Surely she’s… and the trail of thought gave way to confusion. Who is she thinking about again? One of the sennin—Tsunade-sama. But why would someone so honorable train _her_? And train her she did. Taijutsu. Ninjutsu and genjutsu. Even some senjutsu. And _healing_.  
  
In a moment of impulse, she glances down at her hand, willing the chakra to well up and shift and– there it was. An aura around her hand flickers into the distinct blue-green of healing chakra and she looks down, dumbfounded except not and– and it flickers away into nothingness, her arm prickling in the tell-tale sign of chakra exhaustion. She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand as feeling returns to her fingertips. She feels as if she should be surprised. She isn’t.  
  
After a short bout of hesitation, she shakes off that sense of wrongness and continues on like any other day. But unbeknown by any passerby, her eyes sweep in wide arcs, searching and alert.  
  
It suddenly becomes very apparent to Sakura that something’s very wrong with her. But rather than succumbing to panic, her instincts tell her to assess the situation before acting. Was it a genjutsu? It could be, but...she can’t, she doesn’t— she can barely focus on a single thought, never mind _remember_...  
  
Her shoulder clips another and she momentarily stumbles back, her train of thought forgotten.  
  
Sakura looks back and sees black eyes flicker in recognition, before the boy—Uchiha Sasuke; crush, teammate, enemy, _I hate that son of a b_ —grunts lightly and makes his way to his customary seat in the class.  
  
For a second she feels like the ground is shattering into a million pieces, giving way to the endless abyss below. But as quick as the sensation came, it left, leaving her with shaking fists and beads of sweat on the back of her neck, as well as an unidentifiable hollow sensation in her chest.  
  
She snaps back into attention and made her way to the very back of the classroom, unable to tame the trembles running down her spine.  
  
Her back row seat provides a good vantage point over the room, and she takes comfort in the wall behind her back and the unobscured view of one raven-haired Uchiha.  
  
Others join her, Hinata shyly asking for the seat beside her, but this and the rest of the classroom fades into the background before her careful surveillance of the boy. His every move made her twitch, her hand moving towards her thighs only to realize that there was nothing there.  
  
Iruka-sensei begins lecturing after promising more “hands-on” activities if they behaved, describing the distinctive landscapes of each of the Big-Five. At each name, images popped into her head: a sea of sand, an endless terrain of rocks, and so on. She shakes her head as if that would loosen the hold of these invading thoughts—memories—that cannot be _hers_.  
  
Iruka-sensei, of course, immediately zooms onto the gesture. “Do you disagree, Sakura-chan?”  
  
Her ears should have burned from the snickers of her classmates. Her cheeks should have reddened. They don’t.  
  
She ducks her head in false-embarrassment, shaking her head. “No-no, sensei, just got a headache, that’s all.”  
  
He chuckles kindly, “If you say so.”  
  
Iruka-sensei continues with the lesson. She doesn’t interrupt again.  
  
And then lunch happens.  
  
This time, the Uchiha notices the attention he’s getting. He turns to glare at her but then his eyes filled with confusion. He looks away to rub at his temples.  
  
She can’t stop staring, can’t stop fixating on him. But her gaze is filled with something other, something not-Sakura; not the pining eight years old she _is_ , the child who believes that the only way to stand out is to become a ninja, the insecure bullied little girl who just wants to be accepted by the other little girls. Something _other_.  
  
She pierces her lips as she turns towards the bento box her mother made this morning. She tries focusing on her food, tries ignoring the strangeness that is making its way through her. That’s what her Ka-san always told her: don’t go looking for problems that aren’t there. And-and her remembering things that aren’t real, her sudden urges to reach into a kunai pouch that isn’t there, well– she sighs into her food, unable to answer her own questions.  
  
Sakura isn’t able to stop her eyes from flickering up again, watching the Uchiha guardedly while lazily dragging her chopsticks through her food. She couldn’t relax, adrenaline rushing through her system. _Enemy_ , her mind screams at her, _caution_.  
  
That’s when a sudden commotion startled her to her feet, her eyes instantly fixing on the source.  
  
A rush of ink explodes at the front of the sitting area, where many of the popular kids—the future civilians, a voice in her head adds—now stand outraged.  
  
That Naruto-baka! Always skipping class, and pranking, and being so annoying and– her brows furrow as she looks on, confused. Something in her resists that sentiment. Sakura can only felt a deep fondness, a strange fondness, that she isn’t able to pinpoint. Naruto doesn’t deserve that kind of vitriol, Naruto is– Naruto deserves– she shakes off the bizarre sentiment. The annoying blond is just another kid in her class, nothing but the nuisance the adults mutter about when they thought no one was listening.  
  
So why does she feel the urge to hit someone?  
  
She returns to her seat when Iruka begins chastising him, feigning a new interest in her food as she returns her gaze to Uchiha.  
  
She’s surprised by his tight grip on the edge of the table, his shoulders obviously tense. He is glaring at those kids at the front, the ones loudly complaining about the blond’s latest antics.  
  
Since when did Sasuke-kun spare a single thought towards Naruto? Certainly not when he stabbed him with a Chidori or when he attacked joined a terrorist group hell-bent on killing Naruto or— she blinks, startled.  
  
Uchiha suddenly turns and glances at her, his face openly shocked, before pivoting away back to the classroom. Sakura saw a flicker of red in his eyes.  
  
Her heartbeat pounds against her ears.  
  
When lunch is over, Sakura returns to the classroom in a daze. Red. Red. A feeling of being here before fills her and her fingers itch for a weapon not there.  
  
The class progresses with lectures and a promise of throwing practice the following morning. Iruka-sensei asks after her at the door and she assures him with an “I’m alright, Iruka-sensei!” as she leaves. She doesn’t feel alright.  
  
She doesn’t go straight home. Rather, she walks and walks and walks through a Konoha far too familiar yet different to what she knows, remembering what isn’t and forgetting what is.  
  
And when she returned to her house in a modest corner of the civilian sector, it was right into the arms of her worried mother. Never again, Sakura thinks as she buries her head into her mother’s chest, never again will she lose this.  
  
Sakura steps back and gives her mother a watery smile.  
  
“Sorry I’m late, Okaa-san.”  
  
Her mother hums in response, before lightly chastising her to tell her next time so she doesn’t have to worry so much. Sakura just nods mutely and enters the house, taking in the warm lighting and the homely scents of steeped tea and boiled rice. It is foreign to her. When was she last here– hours ago or years?  
  
Her head pounds.  
  
She stumbles into her room, the heel of her hand digging into her forehead. Her thoughts string together as quickly as they fall apart. Nothing made sense and made too much sense at the same time.  
  
When she slams her hand against her desk, the resulting imprint in the wood did not surprise her.  
  
She is Sakura, she is– was– a kunoichi of Konoha, an iro-nin taught by Tsunade-sama herself, a once-member of Team Seven under Hatake Kakashi along with Uzumaki Naruto and Uchiha Sasuke, a loyal and proud ninja who always fought for her country and her friends and didn’t turn her back– never turned her back, not like _him_ , that total _fucking piece of shit–_ and now she is here, _here_ in who knows where, in what seems like her childhood bedroom in a childlike body in a Konoha that she no longer knows. Fuck.  
  
She digs out a blunted kunai from her academy pack and stuffs it under her pillow before throwing herself onto the bed. Her eyes itch with exhaustion. It’s the most vulnerable she has felt for years, but it would have to do.  
  
Sakura closes her eyes and falls into a light dose.  
  
~~~  
  
Blurry-eyed and short-tempered, Sakura stumbles her way into the classroom just seconds before the bell.  
   
A sleepless night and her mind only feels more disarrayed, more memories, more thoughts, more questions. She is Haruno Sakura, future kunoichi. She is little Sakura-chan, second-year academy student. She is all alone.  
  
She finds a quiz placed below her nose, reminding her of where she is. She glances down: geography. Her lips twitch up into a smile when she hears Naruto’s brash complaints and then flatten when she notices Uchiha’s attention on the blond, which the blond reciprocates.  
  
Uchiha. There was a fight, a battle. Between them. Kakashi-sensei was there, but most of the fighting was between them. Large boulders crushed and a redhead is killed and Sakura is trying to kill that Uchiha who disrupted the kage summit and tried to hurt Naruto and then Kakashi gets there and uses the Mangekyo against Sasuke and she’s in the middle and lightning and– her pencil digs a hole into the paper. This is that bastard’s fault.  
  
And now he's taken an interest in Naruto, however minor. That can’t happen. She doesn’t care that he’s just an eight-year-old boy, Uchiha is an armed paper bomb, just a spark away from blowing them all up. (She willfully forgets that Naruto and Sasuke are Sun and Moon, one forever chasing the other.)  
  
The class is led out to the training grounds, Iruka-sensei lecturing on the proper handling of kunai and “I swear, if a single one of you steps a toe out of line, you are all getting detention! This is absolutely not a place for foolishness!” They are each paired off and set in front of a target, a bucket of blunted kunai passed off to each group. She’s partnered with Shino, and it is only his blank expression that stops her from greeting him with anything more personal than a curt “Aburame-san.”  
  
“Haruno-san,” his head dips minutely. He takes the first kunai from the bucket and, after a slight nod from her, stands in position to throw. At Iruka-sensei’s go, he began throwing along with the other students. She observes the wild trajectories of the kunai, thrown incorrectly by several of her classmates. Within the next few years, they would be weeded out.  
  
Then it was her turn.  
  
Sakura fingers the kunai handle, feeling the weight of the blade—slightly off balance, aerodynamics affected due to its blunted and beat-up nature—before gripping it in her too-small hand. She holds it up, pretending to look closely at the blade while actually examining the stances of the other students. She couldn’t perform too well, but she needs to show some aptitude; just enough to draw Naruto’s attention.  
  
At the mark, she throws. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Ten throws, each on an alternate ring of the target, giving the appearance of haphazardness. Yet it was far better than her classmates’. Except Uchiha. All ten of his kunai crowd the center-most ring. Which in itself isn’t unusual. But the fact that Naruto, his assigned partner, is practically dangling off his arm demanding to know how he did it and Uchiha, rather than shaking him off, indulges him, well, she doesn’t know what to think.  
  
Her throwing arm then gives a sharp pang, reminding her that her shrunken limbs were not meant to move with such force, never mind be augmented with chakra in order to achieve it. Sue her, it was her automatic instinct, made only easier by her minuscule chakra reservoir.  
  
Her nearby classmates look at her in surprise, a couple murmuring short words of praise. Uchiha’s eyes follow the light chatter to her, and his expression is a bewildered type of discernment before they make eye contact.  
  
Her head fills with static and her fists clench so hard that her nails bite into her palms. For a moment, Sakura feels as though she is swaying, unsecured from the earth. His eyes. His eyes, which flickered a Sharingan-red that she did not just imagine, which are as blank and unflinching as they were when he thrust that Chidori at her. And the sudden smirk, which is all too familiar in all the wrong ways— a smirk that belongs on the rogue nukenin and not on the teammate that she once adored.  
  
A hesitant tap on the shoulder redirects her stunned gaze.  
  
“Haruno-san,” Shino started awkwardly, then fell silent. He simply tilts his head to the side, and it is clear to her that he’s indicating to her that is her turn to retrieve the kunai from the target, as all her classmates have begun to do.  
  
She musters up a smile. “Ah. Thank you, Shino-kun!”  
  
Sakura wouldn’t have noticed her slip if it weren’t for the faint dusting of red on his cheeks and his wordless nod.  
  
Inwardly cursing, she turns on her heel and up to the practice target. Sakura will deal with Uchiha after class ends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How I managed to write this in a week, the world may never know...

Her knuckles give a light throb from where it connected with Uchiha’s face. She relishes it. That bastard had it coming for _years_. 

But her elation fades as quickly as it came.

It dawns on her that everything, her entire life thus far, has been reset. Because in spite of being civilian-born, despite being overshadowed by her teammates at every turn, being overlooked as the fan-girl or a delicate on-looker or just a pink-haired silly girl playing shinobi, she succeeded. She pulled her way up. She became highly skilled in a technique that was depended upon and difficult to master, she took control of her weaknesses and turned them to her strength. She was valuable to Konohagakure.

Here, she is nothing.

Here, her life is a blank slate. And she can tell herself all she wants that this is an opportunity to use her knowledge for the good of Konoha, for the good of her family and her friends and her allies and everyone that ever depended on her. She can tell herself that despite her negligible chakra pool and weak muscles, she can train herself back up to the powerhouse she was, that she can take back all her mistakes and fix anything that ever went wrong. Sakura would be kidding herself.

Because she may have an early start, but what did it matter if she was never strong in the first place?

And her friends and family and everyone she ever grew to know and love are gone– or, at the very least, never accessible to her again. And who was Sakura, if not for them? What can she fight for, if those she was fighting for no longer exist 

She drags in a shaky breath.

The colorful streets of Konoha have never been so bleak. She will never be home again.

Sakura closes her eyes and shakes off the oncoming panic. She continues on her way. 

Dwelling on her own insecurities won’t help her nor anyone, Shishou once told her that. Sakura could really use her stabilizing influence right about now, but remembering her words and lessons will have to do.

The streets are as full as she can ever remember them being, and she notes, with a sharp pang in her chest, that the next few years will be the only years of relative peace before Konoha is immersed in fighting once again. She breathes in the early autumn air, listens to lively chatter and the rattling brought on by the wind, and loses herself to the bright _bright_ chakra of the village life around her.

The bustling crowds thin as she leaves the inner city, approaching the living sector and the civilian sector beyond. So the group of young girls following her is obvious.  

Sakura sighs. She really doesn’t want to deal with them right now. But she most certainly couldn’t show her hand. She slows her walk, allowing them to catch up to her.

“Forehead girl!”

Better get this over with.

 

* * *

 

It happened like this

They finally confront that bastard, after all that chaos he had caused. Sakura finally had the chance to end this, to kill him.

She ignored Kakashi-sensei’s cry of warning, rushing in with her poisoned kunai and chakra-infused fists. 

(She ignored the screaming voice telling her that she couldn’t kill her own teammate, couldn’t kill Sasuke-kun. Her conviction was stronger.)

He was already exhausted from a previous fight and his reflexes were slowed. A swipe with her kunai, he throws himself back; she follows with an uppercut he cannot avoid, smashing into his jaw bone. His bleeding eyes spin, and she avoids eye contact.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Neither got the upper hand. 

And then there was cracking, high pitched and sounding like a flock of birds.

She heard Naruto scream her name.

And then– and then this _warping_ , and an explosion.

The last thing Sakura saw was Sasuke’s red pinwheel eyes.

 

* * *

 

Sakura allows herself to be accosted by the girls. She notes that while most of them were in the academy (a year older, actually, and isn’t that pathetic, a group of older girls ganging up on an eight-year-old?), she doesn’t recognize any of them from the shinobi corps.

She lets out a long-suffering sigh before turning to face the music. 

“Forehead girl! Isn’t it lovely to see,” she drags her makeup-adorned eyes up to Sakura’s forehead, “that _en-orm-ous_ head.” Her childhood bully laughs to herself, her small band of friends following suit. 

Forget it, she can’t deal with this shit with a straight face. She begins walking again.

“Hey! Billboard-brow! You can’t just walk away when I’m talking!”

One of the girls suddenly clasp her shoulder, and it takes her a great deal of effort to stop herself from smashing her elbow into the other girl’s nose 

“I’m not in the mood, Ami-san,” Sakura intones 

“Not in the mood?” The girl titters mockingly, “Who’s even asking you? 

Sakura has to restrain herself from moving when she felt the girl tug on a long lock of hair. Never did she expect to experience the pettiness of children in such a manner ever _again_. No wonder her younger self had so many anxieties if this was how she was treated on a regular basis.

“Look, Ami-san–"

“How could anyone not look,” Ami interrupts, “when your forehead can be seen from the top of the Hokage monument?”

...on second thought, how could she have ever taken such insults to heart?

“Ami, let go,” Sakura counts to ten in her head to keep from doing anything rash. One. Two.

“Nuh-uh! Why should I?” Three. Four.

“Because this got old about two minutes ago,” Five.

“Old?” Ami scoffs. Six. “I’ll show you old!”

Ami moves to shove her.

Seven eight-nine- _ten_ –

“Hey! What’re you doin’?” A familiar voice calls. She’s let go.

Naruto. His chest is heaving and his cheeks have that post-prank glow that she hasn’t seen in so long. Sakura isn’t sure whether to be happy or embarrassed to see him. It just figures that he only notices her when she’s the damsel in distress. She settles on mildly pissed.

“Baka!” One of the girls shrieks. “None of your business!”

The blond’s eyes widen in surprise, but Sakura can see the mischievousness in the set of his mouth.

“Then why are you messing with that girl?” he demands hotly.

Sakura’s eye twitches. That _girl_? She’s in his class!

A swell of vindication followed by guilt overtakes her with the beat-down that ensues, Naruto left prone on the ground, clutching his head. The girls dissipate in the aftermath.

Kneeling down beside him, Sakura couldn’t help but touch her hand to his forehead in gratitude, sending a short burst of healing chakra that immediately leaves her exhausted. He would never notice, but it eases her mind. She hefts him up with shaking limbs.

“Thank you, Naruto-san!”

He blinks in confusion. “M-me?” He points to himself.

Her chest fills with endearment and sadness. It is a wonder how a boy treated so poorly exhibits such unrewarded kindness. If anything would make her turn her back on the village, it would be that treatment, that derisiveness in the villagers’ eyes. She holds back her urge to reach out and smother him in a hug. (She already misses him.)

She instead smiles kindly at him. “Yeah, you,” she pokes him lightly on the shoulder before turning to leave.

As she walks away, she adds, “See you in class! You know, if you actually attend for once!”

His laughter is carried by the breeze.

 

* * *

 

 

Ino slides up to her lonely table during lunch.

Sakura can’t help the soft smile it brings to her face. Ino was a long time friend, her longest friend, one of the people that Sakura knew she could rely on, that approved and supported all her decisions.

But as far as Sakura knows, they don’t know each other here.

The clan children typically detached themselves from the civilian-born, especially during the early years of the academy. Those born to clans led a very different early childhood than the civilian-born, exposed to many unsavory nuances of their future career that civilians simply don’t understand and romanticize. The clan children perform significantly better than the civilian-born, most of whom inevitably drop out. There is simply no benefit for clan children and heirs to befriend their civilian counterparts; young children that couldn’t understand the world they came from. Not until they proved themselves, that is 

Last time, Ino took her under her wing when she saw something in her. This time, Ino greets Sakura like an _equal_.

“Hi! My name’s Yamanaka Ino, please call me Ino,” she takes the seat beside her.

“Haruno Sakura, and likewise,” Sakura reconstructs her expression into a polite smile.

She was hesitant to talk to Ino, knowing that one too-familiar gesture, one wrong word regarding something Sakura shouldn’t know, and Ino would recognize that something was up. Even at this age, she is already adept in her clan ways (especially considering that she isn’t yet blinded by mindless crushes). She shouldn’t risk it.

“So, you’re pretty good at throwing kunai, Sakura-san!” Ino exclaims. Her expression only nearly covers up her calculating eyes. Sakura knows her better than that.

“I-I guess,” she says, looking down in feigned-modesty.

“Yeah! So me and some of the other girls, well, we want you to join our training sessions,”

Sakura’s eyes widen. “But–“

Something inside her wants to say yes, yearns for this recognition of her abilities by her peers. She squashed it down. Not only were they not _her_ peers anymore, but subterfuge is not her strong suit. She’d give herself up in minutes.

“It’ll be fun! And besides, I think you can use some more friends, Sakura-san,” Ino nods at her table with her chin, clearly referring to the empty seats around her.

Sakura couldn’t help the emotion—equal parts amusement and nostalgia—that swells up inside her. Ino’s blunt nature always got the best of her.

When Sakura doesn’t respond immediately, Ino backtracks, “Sorry, that was kinda rude of me! But seriously, you should join us after class! We meet at that training ground in the back, over by that small pond over there, every-other academy day.” 

“Well, Ino-san, I like training on my own, you know? It’s relaxing and stuff…” she trails off awkwardly. There’s no shaking off Ino once she gets started, isn’t there?

Ino narrows her eyes but then smiles even brighter. “You don’t have to decide right now, Sakura-chan! Just come whenever you want! Or if not with us, then a different group, you should talk to people more… my Tou-san says that ‘human connections are essential to shinobi’, and honestly, Sakura-chan, you seem kinda lonely.”

Sakura ineffectively stifles a grin behind her hand before giving Ino a look.

“Well, Ino- _chan_ , I don’t seem so lonely now, do I?”

Ino laughs. “Ha! I guess not, Sakura-chan!”

A giggle bursts out of her chest. Something about Ino’s easy friendship just makes her happy, if only for an instant.

“Definitely not!"

  
The two giggling girls share a wide smile, and for a moment, only a moment, Sakura is able to ignore the voice telling her _you don’t belong here_.


	3. Chaper 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'bit more depressing but, hey, it’s Sasuke

He steps into the hospital, his nose firmly clenched in his hands in an attempt to stem the bleeding.  
  
The receptionist coos over him worriedly and calls in a nurse, who gives him a longsuffering glance that spoke of untold exasperation before leading him to a private room. He could hear the nurse muttering under his breath about reckless academy students and last Uchihas before Sasuke zones out, disinterested.   
  
It was stupid of him to give her that opportunity. Sasuke should have been able to dodge or retaliate at the very least. He wasn’t able to.  
  
At the nurse’s final rebuke and dismissal, Sasuke left, hissing lightly as he palpitates his newly fixed nose, feeling a slight bump where there wasn’t before. Damn it, he’s weak. None of his strength, a fraction of his chakra– not nearly enough to power his sharingan for more than a second, never mind his mangekyou. And Sakura, with her fucking perfect chakra control, can beat him with her civilian physique and drop of chakra.  
  
And if _she_ can do this to him, he can’t leave Konoha. He’s as weak as a child.  
  
Sasuke’s stuck.  
  
(He can’t ask his brother what he ever saw in this damned village, what made him put _them_ over _him_.)  
  
He can’t leave, not yet.  
  
(He already feels the suffocating presence of the parasitic village, smiling faces concealing intent to use him as their weapon before discarding him like the rest of his clan and he just. Cant. Breath.)  
  
But he will.

 

* * *

  
  
Nightmares wake him up.  
  
A strangled sob rests on his tongue, his heart hammering against his ribs as his fingers twist into thin bedding. But this time, it is not the image of his murdered parents impressed behind his eyelids, but of their murderer, dead at _his_ hands.  
  
Nausea curls in his gut at the thought. It's wrong, wrong, _wrong_ –  
  
His eyes well up with tears and blood as he stares up at the ceiling, tracing the grain of the wood as he struggles to calm his heaving chest.  
  
A small hand reaches up to wipe at the eyes and he swallows down the sense of _not right_ at the sight of them. That his fingertips come away with blood sends less of a jolt through him than it should. He wipes them against his sleeping shorts before pushing himself out of bed.  
  
A sense of alarm rings distantly in his head. He bears it no heed as he makes his way through his lonely habitat, approaching the bathroom beyond the door to his room.   
  
What feels like a heavy stone settles in his gut as he opens the creaking door to the small room, windowless and lined with the same type of wood as the rest of the building. (This is the only house he was never in before, before the blood sunk into wood and the air filled with a metallic taste. It belonged to some relative, dead before his birth. It still looks too similar. He can still see the blood, dripping down these walls.)  
  
The spinning pinwheels that great him in the mirror somehow do not surprise him. Mangekyou. A blink, and they return to their typical flat black. The sudden wave of lightheadedness threatens to flatten him and it is only his grip on the edge of the sink that keeps him upright.  
  
A moment and he regains his barings, all thoughts simply slipping from his mind. A wave of confusion hits him and he tries to chase his previous thoughts to little avail. What was he doing?  
  
He washes his face with tepid water and leaves, dressing for the day. A pricking paranoia makes its way through him and refuses to leave. He cannot pinpoint it; he keeps on moving. Always moving, can’t look back.  
  
Just another day.  
  
He pushes open the front door, a small pack of lunch and supplies slung over his shoulder, and faces the breeze and sun peaking over the edge of a cloud.   
  
His skin prickles at the open air and many rooftops, a strange part of him protesting at his lack of weapons and concealment. It’s brushed aside.   
  
Look forward, don’t turn back. Don’t look at the blood.  
  
He keeps his gaze down as he makes his way through the compound, his mind dutifully filling in the blanks of _his mother’s second cousin was left here, a gash through the throat, father’s uncle’s wife left there, skewered on his sword._ He closes his eyes against the image of their blood, taking a deep breath before continuing his walk to the main road that connects the village outskirts to its bustling center. He reaches a crossroad.  
  
If he takes a left here, he’d reach a minor exit out of the village. Sasuke’s last step as a Konoha shinobi–  
  
He continues on straight, ignoring the urge to turn. The only path to avenging his clan is forward. Forward, forward, forward.  
  
(With each day, the urge to run is worse, to find that murderer and die at his hand like the rest of his family. He doesn’t want to be alone, even if he’s with _him_. Today that urge is abated, mostly. Just today, just mostly.)  
  
The village grows livelier as he continues, the familiar view of the academy filling the vision, the movement of shinobi clouding his peripherals. He hasn’t been here in years– no, it’s only been a day. A day. (It feels like an eternity.)  
  
He bumps into some girl—not _some_ girl, but Haruno Sakura, massive _pain in the ass_ —on the way in. His legs don’t stop moving, the recognition fades.  
  
He sits at a seat, wondering why he bothered to even come—to get stronger—but why?—so he can kill his brother—but _why?_ —because, _because… but isn’t he innocent?_ No. (Yes.) (But they still all died.)  
  
He sits at his usual spot, a glance at his face sending those attempting to sit beside him scurrying off.  
  
The chūnin began lecturing about places he’s clearly never been to and Sasuke rapidly loses interest.   
  
By lunch, he notices the staring. Haruno. He gives her a glare and pushes down the sense of familiarity. His headache flares up.  
  
Ink explodes on one of the tables, catching his attention momentarily. Some of those girls that kept following him around were drenched and he couldn’t keep the small smirk from gracing his lips.  
  
Naruto, in all his orange glory, loudly proclaims his responsibility with rambunctious laughter.  
  
Sasuke finds himself staring. Naruto. Naruto. A rival, then a teammate and a friend, then an enemy that _he has to kill to get stronger–_ and then he blinks and all that is looking at him with a befuddled expression is just another classmate, another of the crowd.  
  
He looks down and rubs his forehead with his palm. What’s happening to him?  
  
The day moves on and he finds himself walking to the house. Every time he looks around, every time he _opens his eyes,_ he sees something different than he expects, then he _remembers_. Buildings are in different locations, are different colors and have cracks in different places; people he’s passed by every day have different faces, different voices. One image overlays the other until all he feels is confusion. His eyes flicker on and off.  
  
He needs to go somewhere, anywhere else. His eyes flicker around rapidly before landing on a thin ally away from the crowds, from their inconsistencies and their persistent noise and unchecked chakra, ducking in for a momentary reprieve.   
  
He slouches against the wall, his hands grasping at his hair. His chest heaves in silence as his mind assimilates the dual memories, the fact that he’s clearly been here before but nothing is the same yet everything is the _same_ but something about himself, his mind, his body is _different_ and– _and–_ why is he back in Konohagakure? Why here? Why _now?_  
  
Sasuke remembers leaving this village, leaving to become stronger, and only ever coming back to exact revenge on those that ordered the deaths… ordered the deaths of–  
  
Fifteen minutes later Uchiha Sasuke returns to the small house at the corner of the clan compound, eyes narrowed in anger and mouth pinched in determination.  
  


* * *

  
  
Weeks passed since the incident with Sakura.  
  
Between the academy and sleep, all he does is train and eat. One hundred laps around the training group, then stretching, then numerous sets of pushups and sit-ups to build back strength and warm up, then katas of a style he shouldn’t even know, then intensive chakra control exercises because he doesn’t have enough chakra to power his eyes before exhausting his supply, then practice with a training sword he dug up from somewhere, and then repeat. Each day he would push himself as far as he could go, every waking minute he is doing something, anything to gain a measly amount of strength, anything not to feel so weak, even if that meant dropping from exhaustion at the end of each day.  
  
Sasuke only had his eyes and his memories to show for any former (future) training.  
  
He was well aware that Sakura is engaging in a similar training, between shared glares at the academy that inadvertently reveal her thickened muscles, to the daily flickering of her slowly growing chakra reserves that he was so attuned to just because of annoying familiarity alone, he knew she’s just as desperate as him to gain back a fraction of their former strength.  
  
He made the mistake of allowing Naruto to join him just _once_ , when he looked at him with such amazement and he couldn’t help himself, couldn’t shake off the sudden intense guilt that he felt when he remembered what he did to his former rival and friend, couldn’t ignore the loathing he felt for the villagers that treated Naruto so callously. He couldn’t tell him no. And now that orange leach won’t let go. At this point, the thrice-weekly visits to _his_ training grounds by the annoying blond became a fact of life.   
  
(It’s not like Sasuke is actually becoming that much stronger anyway.)  
  
He lets out a sigh, looking over at the hyperactive boy and ignoring his ANBU escorts.   
  
“Dobe,” he calls out, earning a disgruntled look from the blond, “that’s not how you hold a kunai.”  
  
Naruto sends him a confused look. “Ya-yah it is! That’s how Mizuki-sensei taught me!”  
  
Now Sasuke’s full attention is garnered. He jumps back down from the tree he just walked up and moves over to Naruto’s side.  
  
“He didn’t teach you correctly.”  
  
From way Naruto is holding the weapon, he is far more liable to cut himself then an enemy.  
  
Sasuke took a kunai of his own and held it at standard position for throwing, his short fingers wrapped around the handle in a way that promotes stability and allowed for quick movement. The way Itachi once taught him, he thinks with a grimace.  
  
Naruto attempts to imitate him, but his fingering is clumsy and the blade isn’t balanced probably in his palm.  
  
“Here,” he murmurs before reaching out and fixing his grip, “like this.”  
  
Sasuke then models a proper throwing stance with his own kunai and then winds his arm back before pitching forward. The kunai buries itself into the center of the target.  
  
“Wow, Sasuke! That’s so cool!”  
  
Sasuke attempts to fight off the upward twitch of his lips, but Naruto’s beaming grin belays otherwise. This is such a waste of time, but Sasuke couldn’t help himself.  
  
“Okay, okay! My turn now!” yells the excitable blond before attempting the simple technique on his own.  
  
The kunai clips against the border of the target before falling to the ground.  
  
Sasuke pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs to the backdrop of Naruto’s complaints.  
  
——  
  
It is dark when he makes his way back to the compound, long after Naruto left.  
  
Despite the chilled air, sweat dampened his hair and made his clothing uncomfortable. He trudged on despite the exhaustion, desperately desiring a warm shower and a soft bed.  
  
He lingers on the threshold of the compound, hesitating. Sasuke hates the place, hates how big and empty it is, hates the lack of illuminating chakra, hates the oppressive isolation, hates the constant reminder of all that he had lost.  
  
Even in Otogakure, surrounded by Orochimaru’s vile experiments and the scum of the earth, he took comfort in the fact that he _wasn’t alone._ And now he is, just like in his childhood.  
  
Despite it being several years, for him, he could still see the blood soaked into the ground, unwashed by any rain.  
  
Why now? Why here? He could have ended up anywhere, but it’s here, just half a year after it happened, after Itachi was directed to kill his own family. Just a half a year, and he could have fixed it, could feel his mother’s warmth again, hear his father’s gruff but proud voice again. Wouldn’t be alone again.  
  
He is alone now.   
  
(But he doesn’t have to be.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sasuke being a little bit not good™

The days continue. Training, sleeping, academy. Rinse and repeat. They all blur together into one dragging moment.

Naruto continues to come around, like clockwork. He is the only person Sasuke talks to, these days. Sakura will side glance at him every so often during academy hours, but spares him no other regard. 

Whenever he is within the central area of the village, people would greet him in that overly-familiar-yet-respectful way of theirs, as if he’s someone who’s done them some large favor in the past, as if they were  _ thankful _ to him over some imagined act. (All he did was fucking  _ live _ , can’t they see that?) Eventually some realized that he doesn’t enjoy being talked to by strangers and stopped. Those are his favorite type of villagers. If anyone should receive this kind of unwelcome attention, it should be Naruto. He’d appreciate it, at the very least. 

His lips press together. What the hell is he doing with that kid? It makes no fucking sense. Every time, every single time that boy comes around, looking so cheerful yet cautious, smiling that thankful yet anxious smile, as if someone will rip the carpet from under him, Sasuke feels the words stick in his throat, unable to escape through his lips.  _ Go away _ , Naruto.  _ I don’t want you here _ , Naruto. 

The idiot has that other idiot to train with. He can sense their mingling chakra from across the village and wonders why the dobe even bothers with him.

He groans at his misfortune. (He wants someone like Naruto around,  _ needs _ someone like him around. Sasuke has no idea why, but his skin prickles at the thought of him gone.) Why did that moron attach himself to  _ him _ of all people? 

(Why did Sasuke attach himself to  _ him?) _

(Because he slams through the silence and beams bright like the sun.)

The silence of the compound screams into his ears and pounds through his skull and he wondered how his younger self didn’t lose his mind any quicker. No, he became consumed by a single motivation that hooked so deeply into his brain that he couldn’t even  _ breath _ otherwise. It was his reason for waking up in the morning, for eating and fighting and  _ leaving _ . And the second those motivations were challenged, the second he realized the picture he based his entire existence on is inside-out and  _ backwards _ – what was justice became fratricide and murder and he became just as bad as  _ him _ . 

So he couldn’t realize that. _Couldn’t_. Because it isn’t _his fault_ , because someone else is always to blame. Because he’s so far down his path that turning back will only make him realize what he’s lost.

But now he’s here and that soundless noise won’t let him forget and the word  _ fratricide _ echos through his ears and he just. Can’t. 

(And the crack splinters and everything shakes and crumbles into the abyss beneath his feet.)

He doesn’t know what takes hold of him when he finds himself at the doorstep of the main family for the first time in nine years. 

Sasuke walks in as if he was just there yesterday, his mother coming around the corner with an apron on an a smile, the scent of food wafting down the hallway, his brother holding his hand as he led him back from the academy, smile all bitter-sweet, his father’s gruff voice greeting him from the table, frown marks permanently etched into his face. He can  _ feel _ that hand in his own, the light breath from his mother’s lips as she presses then against his forehead, the bitterness in his father’s eyes. They follow him in, features blurred from the frailty of memory.

The door swings open with no resistance, the only sound coming from the low groan of the wood as he steps into the house. The sound follows him into the living area, into the room in which they were killed. Where he found them and their executioner.

There’s no trace of them. The room is only a room, barren and quiet and just a room. He walks out.

His eyes follow the lines of the walls, familiar but nearly forgotten, the glinting of the carved door handles reflecting the moonlight from the window. He stops before a door he’s stood before so many times.

Whenever he had nightmares and couldn’t sleep, he would quietly tread into the hallway and lightly knock on this door. His brother would always open it if he weren’t on a mission, letting him slide in beside him on the bed. As time went on and his brother was home less and less, he would sneak into the room by himself, burrowing himself under the duvet and smelling the comforting scent of the pillow. 

The door creaks as he pushes it open, and he stands for a moment, lingering at the threshold. A strange feeling builds up in his chest. 

One foot in front of the other

His head feels empty as he lowers himself down onto the bed, messing up the neet lines of the sheets and sending dust into the air.

He is empty when he lays his head on the pillow, his eyes staring into nothing. Empty eyes looking at an empty sky in an empty house of an empty clan of an empty boy. 

(And all falls to the abyss below.)

  
  


* * *

  
  


“You weren’t at class today,” Naruto says.

Sasuke blinks languidly. “No?”

“No! You weren’t! And even  _ I _ was at class!” He jabs his finger up in his direction, mouth pulled down in a pouty scowl.

“Huh,” he hasn’t noticed. His eyes drift up to the sky, and he isn’t quite as taken aback as he should be when he notices that the sky is darkening.

Blue eyes blink at him dubiously. “Yah right! I bet you haven’t moved from that spot since yesterday!”

Sasuke lightly hums as he closes his eyes again, tipping his head against the tree bark. He had come to his typical location with some intentions of training, but he felt unusually lethargic once he arrived. What is the point, anyway? To kill him?  At some point Sasuke found himself on a particularly thick branch, lounging against the tree.

“Sasuke! You didn’t?!” He accuses in that loud, obnoxious voice of his.

Moments must have passed by, but all that registers is a faint ringing in his ears.

“That it! I’m coming up!” 

The sudden jerk on the branch and the rustling of the leaves and the light touch on his arm jerk back his attention. He flinches.

“Hey, Sasuke. Are you alright?” The now more cautious voice asks.

“Just fine,” he mumbles. His mind is blissfully blank.

“Woah, Sasuke, you’re shaking,” Naruto then remarks, squinting down at him.

It is only then that Sasuke notices the light tremors running up and down his arms. He makes a light sound of agreement.

It is then that his forearm is clasped in a tight grip, and it is all he can do to keep himself from stabbing the offending hand. He sighs, knowing that resistance is futile.

Naruto pulls him down from his perch, all nervous energy.

“Hey, ya’ know what the best food is? Ramen! Because ramen is the food of the gods, nothing’s better-“ the blond continues to babble, all the while keeping a firm grip on his arm, as if he feared that Sasuke would just slip away

He couldn’t slip away. (He’s already gone.)

 

* * *

It is not a day later when he senses a familiar annoying chakra signature at the gated entrance of the compound.

He sighs and heads to greet the nuisance.

Sasuke slips open the gate and stands at the unwelcoming small crack between the door and the wall. He notes an anxious pacing wearing a hole into the dirt

“Yes,” he says icily.

“Look, Uchiha,” she begins, “we need to talk.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote most of this on a twelve-hour flight. Fun.

She stands before the imposing gate, leg bouncing from a strange nervous tension.

 I’m doing this for Naruto, she thinks, I’m doing this for him. Damn it! Why did that bastard have to make Naruto so attached, hell, even _idolize_ him? And what could she say, other than, _sure, I’ll talk to him?_ Especially once Naruto did that thing with his eyes and asked her worriedly if she can help _him_ , his _only other friend._ And now after he found out the hard way that she has some medical talent, he had relentlessly described to her how Sasuke doesn’t look right; that he was shaking and pale and that he barely ate half of his ramen and that he wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

Sakura is pacing, now, but she finds that she doesn’t care. She came here over what is probably chakra exhaustion. Sakura doesn’t care, not really. (She totally does. Bleh.)

The gate cracks open.

She clenches her fists tightly before relaxing them and letting out a deep breath. The usual shimmering anger doesn’t arise, and instead all she feels is a mild irritation at letting Naruto bully her into this.

“Yes?” He asks, tone oddly bereft of emotion.

She trails her eyes over him and has to contain a wince. Whatever is going on with him took its toll.

“Look, Uchiha. We need to talk,” she says begrudgingly.

“About what?” He sneers.

 She gestures at him jerkily, already frustrated with him, “About this shit!”

 At his incomprehension, she runs her hand through her hair, aggravated, before sighing loudly. Why did he have to make this so painful?

“Look,” she continues finally, “I could care less, but you look like crap.” She waits for a retort, but none comes. His pallid face holds little expression. “Naruto does, though, care. About you, for some strange reason that’s completely beyond me.”

His eyes flicker red beneath his bangs, looking at the tree line before gesturing with his head to follow him in.

She hesitates at the threshold before entering, knowing that clan compounds were littered with privacy seals.

Sakura could feel the unnatural emptiness barring down on her as she followed him, the startling lack in what should be full of life. She pushes down a pang of sympathy, knowing it was neither welcome nor warranted.

He stops abruptly and turns, and she cautiously notes that he walked them straight into one of the clan’s training ground.

They had reached an unspoken accord over the past four weeks, she thinks, of ignoring each other’s existence. It’s worked so far, but now that she approached him those rules no longer applied.

At preview, he seems to be suffering from chakra exhaustion, with the signature clammy pale skin, shakiness, and deep shadows under the eyes. But just as he is attuned to her chakra, she is to his. And not only does she knows he hasn’t been exerting very much chakra lately, but he was able to activate his sharingan without dropping, a feat in itself considering his reduced reserves.

He makes eye contact with her with weary, too-old eyes and it’s all she can do not to look away from the silent challenge.

“What do you want?” Accusation rings through the words.

At this she blinks. “What do you mean? I just told you. Naruto’s—”

“Cut that bullshit. What do you _really_ want?”

Sakura bristles at the insinuation but begrudgingly admits to herself that it is warranted. She did come here with a personal agenda.

“What are you doing with Naruto?” She refuses to skirt around the issue.

He snorts. “Nothing,”

“Really? Because see here, you don’t have exactly the best track record, especially regarding Naruto. What happened to trying to kill him, hm?” she taunts, old anger giving way to bitter words.

He scoffs, red eyes spinning. She meets his gaze, headstrong. They then fade back to black and he looks away and crosses his arms.

“Believe what you will.”

She refrains from punching him. Just barely. If she hadn’t suffered through countless retellings from Naruto, of training and following Sasuke around, she would have been far more concerned. She knows how Naruto is, latching on to the smallest bit of affection and never letting go. Sasuke probably couldn’t get rid of him even he tried.

“Fine. But I _fucking_ swear, one move that I don’t like and—“

He rolls his eyes. “You’ll slit my throat in my sleep. Or will you punch me to death with your brutish fists?

“Try me,” she snarls.

She just notices the crazed look in his eyes as he lunges before she blocks him, kneeing him in the stomach.

He flips back before launching at her, teeth bared and strikes wild. Too easy, and concerningly so.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” She yells, dodging and deflecting his attacks.

“What isn’t?” He grunts, continuing the desperate assault.

She’s trying to restrain herself, holding back from utilizing chakra-enhanced strikes, knowing that he clearly isn’t aiming to kill her (because if so, he’s doing a shit job), but a fist slips through her slowed defenses and hits her right in the jaw and _enough’s enough_.

A chakra-enhanced fist lands on his sternum and launches him right across the field and into one of the surrounding trees, head snapping back with a resounding _thump_. Shit.

Sakura can’t afford to kill him _now_.

She walks up to his slouched figure and he raises his head at her approach. Mangekyou spin wildly in his sockets, blood welling up and beading down his cheeks. He meets her eyes head-on and begins to laugh, light, hysterical chuckles that brought shivers down her spine.

Sakura already knew he was insane, but she didn’t imagine that he was this far gone.

She cautiously approaches him as if he were a trapped animal, lightly making her way to him, weary of another thoughtless attack. Once she sees he won’t attempt such a thing, she grabs him by the shoulder and lightly shakes him. “Hey, hey, turn those things off. Calm down, I didn’t hit you that hard, did I?”

She definitely did. While she couldn’t exactly see his puples, he’s almost definitely concussed. Coupled with the tremors that she could feel down his arms, she almost felt bad for hitting him back.

“Should’a hit harder,” He slurs lightly between the gasps, but finally turns off the sharingan.

She snorts, bringing up a green-tinged hand to his temple. “Don’t tempt me.”

He grunts and looks away, not protesting her sudden proximity but rather subconsciously leaning into her hand.

Something about the gesture reminds her of the old Sasuke, her Sasuke, the one that was her teammate and actually _cared_ about them, if only a little. She shakes the thought away, refusing to dwell on former false hopes. Sakura isn’t that little girl anymore.

“That was real stupid, you know. What possessed you to attack like that?” She moves her hand down, letting it hover over his chest to check for any internal injuries.

“With a bitch-face like yours, it wasn’t difficult.”

“You’re really asking for it now, aren’t you?” She says dryly.

He shrugs, and then grimaces in pain.

A moment passes, and for some inexplicable reason he proclaims, “I hate this damn village.”

She helps stand him up. “Tell me something I don’t know,” she says. Between betraying the damn village and actively killing some of its highest ranking members and screwing over his teammates, he couldn’t have made it any more clear.

He pushes away from her hands and turns. “All of this,” he gestures widely with his hand, “all of these trees and buildings and people are simply coving the _rot_ growing beneath.

At this she angers. How dare he say such a thing about her _home_ , especially after his own actions. She wants to reach out and shake him, to slap him across the face and demand he take it back.

But then she looks into his eyes and she knows that she is missing something. Something that brought that pain to his eyes, the betrayal. (And oh, why is there betrayal in his face, the one who left the village to gain more power on his own?)

“Sasuke. What happened to you? What am I missing?” She says, half to herself.

He momentarily sneers at her before the bravado falls apart. His dark eyes search hers before he whispers something awful, something that he wouldn’t have said had he not been concussed, had he not been so close to the edge. She wants to vomit.

“My brother didn’t kill my clan out of his own volition. He was under Konoha’s orders.”

  


* * *

  


A few days after Naruto helped her with Ami, she seeks him out at lunch.

He looks surprised when she approaches his lonely table and it takes him a moment to scoot over to let her sit. No one spared her a look other than Ino, who gave her a quizzical glance before returning to play queen with her adoring young followers. (How Ino manages to place herself at the center of attention every single time is beyond Sakura, but who is she to judge?)

“Oh! Hi, Sakura-chan!” He says in an overly familiar way, as if they’ve been friends for years instead of days. It was disconcerting.

“Hi, Naruto-kun!” She sits besides him and starts eating.

Moments pass and he gives her a quick side glance before returning to his food. A few repetitions of the act and he finally breaks. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

She feels a pang of sadness.

“You helped me out the other day! That means we’re friends, right?” Sakura says with all the nativity of an eight year old; being subtle won’t get her anywhere with him. She buries her guilt at the slight manipulation—with his sudden association with Uchiha, she has to keep a closer eye.

“Yeah! Of course!” He looks at her wide-eyed.

They finish eating, Naruto babbling intermittently, encouraged by her mindless responses. She’s glad she has this piece of her life back, her teammate and one of her greatest friends. She won’t let him suffer at the village’s ignorant cruelty once again.


End file.
